


The Syncopation of Your Charms

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Relationships, F/M, Flirting, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-10-14 02:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: Antoine Triplett loves the soul song that beats in his heart, the notes and phrases that makes him who he is. But when he comes across a clue that points him in the direction of his soulmate, he has to wonder: what's missing?A fan addition toRecoveringRabbit's Soul Song AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [recoveringrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/recoveringrabbit/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Rabbit!!! As a present, I present fan fiction for your fan fiction, i.e. one of my favorite stories of all time. <3

As the grandson of a legendary Howling Commando, Trip enjoyed taking people by surprise. Sometimes, he surprised them in combat, sneaking up disabling them before they knew he was there. Most of the time, though, it was the twinkle in his eye and the joy in his smile. It was easy for Trip to smile when his soul song syncopated in his ears.

His grandad's song was closer to what people expected: a brassy, regimental march that put John Phillip Sousa to shame. Trip had the brass, but not the tempo; his was an easier, smoother song that could ground him on a mission, cheer him on a cloudy day, and sing him to sleep at night. Specialists didn't need to tow the line as much as they needed to be flexible, and Trip was flexible enough that he found himself at a recording studio, staring at a stack of sheet music while his buddy was home with the flu. The studio wasn't too far from SciOps, and Trip wasn't too busy to help a friend, so there he stood, trying to remember the music theory he was required to learn at the Academy. Here, people would come with a song in their heart and leave with a copy in their hand. Trip watched them leave, their soul copied on a disc or on sheets, marveling that a whole person could be expressed in one piece of music. He wouldn't believe it if his baritone sax didn't sing that it was so.

Deciphering soul songs wasn't exactly a part of his job at SHIELD, (it was something the recon teams attempted to do, with varying degrees of usefulness), but when he looked at the sharps and flats that spelled out somebody's being, he wondered if it should be something he could do on his own. If your soul song was yourself, and if that soul song was important enough that any hint of a mark's song changed the way an operative approached a mission, then it seemed that a deeper understanding of soul songs should be able to help him with anyone he might come across.

It wasn't easy for Trip to convince the owner, Audrey, to let him stick around. But Trip listened to the urgency from his snare drums and the persuasiveness of his trumpet solo and, as usual, smiled his way through the door.

His hours were as irregular as his missions (and recent soul song privacy laws added a lot of red tape), but Trip always made the most of his time. He wasn't allowed to know which song matched with which person, but wasn't guessing half the fun? He'd scan the sheet music, go through the security tapes, and ask Audrey if he got it right.

"You know I can't tell you that," she'd say, but Trip could read her warm smile and come to his own conclusions.

It took a month for Trip to really feel like he was getting the hang of it, as people were complex, and music was a language of its own. It helped that most of Audrey's customers were SHIELD agents, and that he knew a little about them from what saw of them around SciOps.

In the end, he discovered that most people didn't surprise him all that much. Still, it was in the details, the rests and staccatos, the time signatures and keys, that Trip found the facets of people's inner life. Was that something he could learn to see in someone's face? In the way they shifted their eyes? He stopped looking at the sheet music after his sixth week, feeling that it was time to take the training wheels off. As the people left the studio, Audrey would attempt to keep her composure while Trip would ask about general things, gradually getting more specific as he cataloged the answers that leaked from the corners of her mouth. She'd make a terrible agent, but Trip thought the world needed her exactly as she was: warm, kind, with eyes that lit up when Phil Coulson pulled up in his red Corvette to take her on a date.

"Do you reckon they're soulmates?"

Trip turned from his view of the road and looked around him, trying to find the questioner. He wasn't sure how she managed to come into the room unnoticed, but he was not at all displeased to see her.

"Jemma Simmons," she said, reaching her hand out with a smile. Trip took a look at her argyle sweater before taking her hand, wondering if he'd seen her before.

"So," she said, "do you?"

He looked back at the road and frowned.

"Hard to say." He folded his arms and peered back at her. "I guess I don't know Coulson all that well."

Agent Simmons (he was sure she was an agent) considered this a moment, tapping her fingers on her recording to the beat of his piano. How she knew his rhythm, he didn't know.

"It's impossible to tell, of course, but they do seem to get on together. Stands to reason they would at least be in tune. Have they been dating long?"

Trip shot her a look, and her countenance melted.

"Sorry! I don't mean to pry, I just—" She looked out the window, towards where the Corvette had been. "I find them fascinating. Soulmates, I mean. The idea that there is someone out there whose song perfectly harmonizes with yours is just mind-boggling. How could you ever find such a person?"

He thought about his mother and her warm smile as she held him close.

"People are more harmonic than you would think. There's no reason to believe that there's only one person in the world for you," he said, echoing the baritone sax line she gave to him, "you can get along with anyone if you try hard enough."

Agent Simmons cocked her head at him, giving a look that he'd seen more than once on visits to the SciOps labs. He'd suspected she was a SHIELD scientist, but this confirmed it; he could practically hear the smug trombone eeking out of her pores.

"That's certainly true, to a point," she allowed, "but you can't dismiss the data. Couples who are in tune have a higher success rate than couples who are out of tune. And their success rate is even higher the more their soul songs line up. It's basically an undisputed fact."

"Ah," said Trip," but you're talking about averages, and averages always have outliers." He took a step closer, sizing her up and wondering if she had the same key signature as the universe. "There's no reason a person can't end up an exception, if they work at it."

She opened her mouth to say something when a new customer walked in, and Trip had to excuse himself from the conversation. From the corner of his eye, he saw her bristle, then compose herself. By the time he was able to get back to her she was out the door, sheet music and flash drive in hand, and he could only watch her go and wonder if he would ever see her again.

It was the next week, when he stumbled on a stack of sheet music he definitely wasn't supposed to see, that he wondered if he had.

He looked side to side, unsure if he did so due to the experience of his many field missions or simple guilt. Either way, he had found a treasure and the perfect privacy in which to enjoy it, and it seemed too good to be true.

Poring over the music was like studying a part of himself he'd never known, like looking back at his life and seeing the shape of what he'd been missing. There, right on the page, was a clarinet solo that fit in, right after his trumpet went silent. Could it be?

He heard the creaking of the door and had everything perfectly back in order by the time a man poked his head in.

"She's not here," Trip said, oozing his signature cool. The man gave him a sly smile.

"I'm actually looking for you. Got a case I think you could help with."

Trip sensed a challenge and felt his brass section sway him into intrigue.

"John Garrett," the man said, offering his hand. Trip waited for a downbeat before taking it.

"Antoine Triplett."

"But your friends call you Trip, I know. Listen, Trip, I have a limited amount of time and an unlimited amount of butts to save. Are you with me?"

He was surprised at the part of him that wanted to say no, at the trumpet that flared as John Garrett grinned. But he wondered if that had more to do with the stack of papers that lay only inches away from him. John Garrett was a legend. What reason would he have to decline?

Trip held back a wince. "When do we start?"

As Garrett led him out of the studio, Trip kept his smile, hoping it hid the sting of leaving his soulmate's soul song behind.

Trip thought a lot about that sheet music over the next year. As a SHIELD specialist, he had the skills to sneak into the studio and retrieve it any time he was in the area. As the grandson of a Howling Commando, and more importantly, as a son of a woman who raised him right, he knew better.

Besides, with all the energy he spent just keeping up with Garrett, who had the time?

He tried to keep track of the places they went and the missions they completed, but truth be told, he was more interested in having the time of his life. They were SHIELD agents, doing what SHIELD agents did best, and doing it better than anyone.

So if he found himself humming that clarinet solo and imagining the pair of brown eyes that went with them, it was happening in the background of much more urgent and pressing thoughts, such as completing the mission and staying alive. His staccato piano kept him light on his feet, but his subconscious continued to build an image of the long brown hair and sarcastic smirk that sang in his dreams.

It wasn't until Garrett went to visit a friend in LA that Trip found himself in a diner and realized it was the first he'd had a chance to breathe in six months. He found a booth and settled in, his soul song in a decrescendo as the tempo slowed. Technically, Trip was on vacation, and when Trip was on vacation, Trip had the house burger, a double order of fries, and a Coke to celebrate. When he cleared his plate, he ordered pie.

It was a very ordinary thing to order at a diner. It was unusual, however, when his pie was served by someone who was clearly not a member of the staff.

"Act natural," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Act like we're talking."

He looked her up and down: long, wavy hair and mischief oozing from her pores. A few beats from his snare drums settled it.

"Sounds good to me."

Her eyes darted behind him, but he knew better than to look. She wasn't scared, not really. It was more like . . .

"Your ex?"

She looked up at him, bewildered.

"Yes. I mean, no." She looked behind him again. "That is, he doesn't know he's my ex."

Trip's smile widened. "So there's a chance for me?"

That was enough to get her to gape at him. He laughed with his eyes.

"I don't—oh, crap!"

When she ducked underneath the table, Trip used to opportunity to start on the pie, carefully eyeing the man who walked by. When he left the restaurant, Trip nudged the girl with his knee.

"He's gone."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

When she crawled up from under the table, she composed herself before looking up at him.

"Skye," she said, sticking out her hand. He took it.

"Trip."

He waited for her to say something, but continued eating when she didn't. If he had learned anything from his study of soul songs, it was that there was a music in silence, too.

"So," he said when he was ready, "when's he gonna hear the good news?"

She furrowed her brow at him. "What?"

"That you've upgraded to me."

She shot him an incredulous glare, which he met with a wink.

"Do you flirt with all the girls you meet in diners?" she asked.

Trip beamed. "You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take."

That got her to smile, which had been his goal in the first place. She had a nice smile, as it turned out, the kind that made his solo trumpet hit a high F sharp.

She made her excuses and left before he had the chance to say much else, and he understood. He was grateful, even, to have the chance to be of use on his day off.

Hopefully, he'd given her the time and space to figure out how to break it gently, and in a way it was more meaningful and more personal than any mission he'd ever had for SHIELD.

What he didn't understand, however, was how a clarinet solo got stuck in his head, and why he was still singing it long after he met up with Garrett and shipped out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but then THE PROMO happened. As it turns out, Jemma is very happy in this story. I have, at long last, been able to write a story that is basically free of FitzSimmons angst. I hope that helps.
> 
> And, you know Trip is alive. Very alive in this story. I do what I can.

"Trip? Is that you?"

He watched Jemma Simmons come up to him, cafeteria tray in hand. 

"Simmons," he greeted, making sure to offer the suavest of smiles. "Nice to see you again."

She returned his smile and nodded. "I didn't realize you were a SHIELD agent."

"That's because I'm stealthy," he joked.

She indicated the seat next to his. "D'you mind if I?"

He nodded, and she sat down.

"I'm surprised you remember me," she admitted, an apology in her eyes. "We only met the once, and that was what, a year ago?"

"I have an excellent memory," he said. "Besides, you're pretty memorable."

A tinge came to her cheeks, but he'd only told her the truth. Simmons was beautiful, obviously smart, and just—different. He didn't know how anyone could forget her.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

He followed her eyes to his half-eaten breakfast and chuckled.

"Just thinking."

She nodded. "A new mission?"

"You know it," he lied.

Truth was he'd been thinking of soulmates lately, and therefore had been thinking of her and the soul song he couldn't get out of his head. He knew now that the clarinet on repeat in his brain played the same melody he saw in Audrey's studio. Simmons must have gotten hers recorded around that same time as the sheet music he'd found, maybe even the same day. Seemed odd that she would show up just as he was wondering if the song belonged to her.

But since he considered that information classified, he deflected.

"What's your clearance level?" he asked.

Simmons beamed. "Five."

"You ever hear of the Rising Tide?"

She rolled her eyes. "Wish I hadn't."

"Yeah," he said, "I know what you mean. They like to get in the way."

"That's putting it mildly, from what I've heard."

Trip smiled, nodding. "You could say that."

Trip was at SciOps because of the Rising Tide; the group had become so disruptive that it became imperative to stop and re-asses their strategies.

"Wish you could help me, "said Trip. "I'm not really supposed to bring anyone in on it."

Truthfully, he wished his heart would slow its tempo. She'd surprised him, this Jemma Simmons. He'd never felt like this before, never been like this before. Was it something in his coffee, or—?

"Ah, well," said Simmons, "you know what they say: trust the system."

She offered him a soft smile and he stilled, his syncopating rhythm smoothing into a lullaby. The clarinet played melody. 

"Have you figured it out?" she asked.

Trip cocked his head at her, almost worried that she read his thoughts.

"Audrey and Coulson. Have you learned anything else about them?"

Trip shrugged. "I haven't seen either of them in months."

She smiled at him, primly, and he couldn't help but let the clarinet wail a little louder.

"You're very curious about soulmates," he said.

"I'm a very curious person."

He looked at her, from her neck tie down to her boots.

"I believe it."

"Do you believe in soulmates?" she asked.

It was a bit of a preposterous question. Didn't everybody? But he swirled his coffee and smiled.

"Seems like you do."

Somehow, that seemed to stump her. He watched the crease between her eyebrows deepen, then recede.

"The idea of finding one person in the world whose song perfectly matches your seems to be a statistical improbability."

"I hope not," he countered. "I practically live off wedding hors d'oeuvres."

That was enough to get her to smile, but it was cut off by a chirp from Simmons' phone. He told her it was okay to answer it, then chuckled at his own misfortune. Whatever was on the other line had Simmons hooked.

"Looks like you need to go," he offered.

She apologized by way of a shrug and got off the phone.

"I'm needed in the lab. It was good to see you, Trip," she said, gathering her things. "If you find that you can ask for help with Rising Tide, please let me know." She stopped, her brow furrowing. "Though they're hackers, right? That's more Fitz's realm of expertise."

Trip took another sip from his mug. "Fitz?"

"My lab partner," she explain. "He's an engineer and excellent at programming. He can help."

Trip paused, his snare drums reminding him to stay in rhythm. "Sounds good."

Simmons was still out the door when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and a smile crescendo-ed across his lips.

_[Skye 08:04] Good morning!_

He eagerly typed back.

_[Trip: 08:04] Hey, girl! It's about time you got out of bed._

As Garret had had to make more than one trip to LA to visit his friend (he didn't say why, but it seemed obvious that something was wrong), Trip had found his way into the same diner more than once, and more than once, had found the same mischievous eyes staring back at him. Skye had decided that her ex didn't need to be her ex after all, but it didn't stop her and Trip from becoming friends, and certainly didn't stop him from getting her number. The number she had went through to a burner phone, sure, but it had been secure so far. Trip was surprised at how nice it was to have someone to talk to.

_[Skye 08:06] This is when normal people wake up, Trip. We can't all be as perfect as you. ;)_

_[Trip 08:07] You said it. ;)_

He imagined her rolling her eyes at him, giving him the smile that he found infectious.

_[Skye 08:11] How's work?_

_[Trip 08:12] Just need to get my boss to approve of something, and it'll be going just fine._

He was lucky enough to find Garret in the kind of cantankerous mood that made him susceptible to suggestion. Within an hour, Trip got permission to stride into Simmons' lab and have an excuse to see her.

What he found, however, was that she was too busy bickering with her lab partner to notice he was there. Strangely, he also found that he couldn't look away.

He knew from the beginning that Jemma Simmons was smart, but he never imagined she could shine so brightly. It was the smile in her cheeks that shone through her eyes; it was that playful way she nudged her partner when he droned on for too long. Her partner—Fitz—didn't seem to mind the interruptions, as the groans he uttered weren't genuine. Instead, he seemed to move with her, anticipating and complementing her movements even as they argued. Simmons did the same, to the point where their conversation turned into a dance, and Trip could swear that he almost heard music. He realized that the person he met before was only one part of a whole.

He realized that he was watching a woman in love.

Two people in love, to be precise. It was clear that Fitz loved Simmons dearly; Trip's heart almost ached in empathy. It was impossible to miss, and impossible to deny that Fitz and Simmons were in tune. 

In fact, he concluded, if there ever were soulmates, it was them.

His grandfather's brass section might have persuaded him to make a scene, but Trip's brass was softer, gentler, coaxing him to accept defeat and walk away with dignity. It was like getting to the top of the stairs and expecting an extra step; it was like a song that was cut off before the end. He felt off balance, leaning against the wall to steady himself. If Fitz was Simmons' soulmate, then she couldn't be his. Trip realized that while he had never really thought that much about soulmates before stumbling upon those pages in Audrey's studio, in his heart of hearts, he had always believed that he had one.

It was a strange kind of heartbreak, because it wasn't about losing Simmons. He was happy for her, after all. No, this was a different kind of feeling; wider and deeper. 

And as he stood in the hallway, catching his breath, Trip knew he had never felt more alone.

_[Skye 13:35] Okay, well I'm bored out of my mind._

He squinted at the text before he replied.

_[Trip 13:35] Bored? You?_

_[Skye 13:36] Ha ha_

_[Trip: 13:36] You know what they say, Skye. Only boring people get bored._

_[Skye: 13:37] Oh my gosh, Trip. I can't believe you pulled the "only boring people get bored" thing on me._

_[Trip: 13:37] It's something my mom says._

_[Skye: 13:37] It's something the nuns at St. Agnes would say, too. Are you sure you're not a Catholic nun, Trip?_

_[Trip 13:38] Well, you know me. I like to keep my options open. ;)_

He stashed his phone in his pocket and continued to walk down the hallway, finding that somehow, a smile had returned to his face.

* * *

There were times over the next year that Trip was again tempted to break ranks and find out who his soulmate was after all. The records were there. Audrey would know where the soul song was and who it belonged to. But he would ultimately come to the conclusion that it would break SHIELD protocol, the law, and would simply be wrong. _Da capo_.

He had also, with the help of hindsight, determined that he'd been blind to Simmons' soul song before. After all he'd learned from Audrey, how could he ever think the clarinet solo and Jemma Simmons had anything in common? She may have clarinets in her song, but for all he knew, she could have a 6/8 time signature instead of his _alla breve_. And if that were the case, in fact if Simmons had any other time signature, there would be no way they could line up, even if they were in the same key. 

And the more he thought about it, he suspected that they weren't. But if Jemma Simmons wasn't his soulmate, who was? Who could possibly match his F minor, bright syncopating _alla breve_  masterpiece? He sat one night, studying Russian blueprints as the richness of his baritone saxophone reminded him how often Occam's Razor fell flat. Had he been looking for a the simplest solution? The most convenient?

Why would he ever want a soulmate that didn't present a challenge?

He took a break from studying and reached out for his phone. He was about twelve hours ahead of Skye as they headed to Moscow, but wouldn't he miss a hundred percent of the shots he didn't take?

_[Trip 11:14] Hey girl, are you up?_

_[Skye 11:16] Oh, come on, Trip. You know that best part about not having a boring desk job is never having a bedtime. What's up?_

_[Trip 11:16] Nothing. Just thought I'd see what you were up to._

_[Skye 11:16] Oh, I see how it is._

_[Trip 11:17] How's that?_

_[Skye 11:18] Trip. You're obviously bored._

_[Trip 11:19] What makes you say that?_

_[Skye 11:19] I thought only boring people got bored, Trip._

_[Skye 11:20] I mean, I would have at least thought that if you were bored, you'd just go to sleep or something._

_[Skye 11:23] Since you actually do have a boring office job you have to be on time for._

_[Skye 11:27] Trip?_

_[Trip 11:33] Still here. Are you saying I'm boring, Skye?_

_[Skye 11:35] Hey, you started it. You pulled your mom on me. Only seems fair that I get to pull her on you._

_[Trip 11:36] Trust me, Skye. No way she would have ever let me get away with that. Or anything._

_[Skye 11:42] Sounds nice._

_[Trip 11:43] She'd like you, though. She appreciates spunk._

_[Skye 11:43] Spunk? Did you honestly just say that I have spunk? Who even uses that word anymore?_

_[Trip 11:44] I have an excellent vocabulary._

_[Skye 11:45] Wow. So I'm basically Luna Lovegood to you. Good to know._

_[Trip 11:46] What's wrong with Luna Lovegood?_

_[Skye 11:47] Nothing, if you're into reading magazines upside down._

_[Trip 11:47] I'm not that judge-y._

_[Trip 11:49] And I appreciate a woman with a different perspective._

_[Skye: 11:50] If that's what you call it._

_[Skye 11:55] What's really going on here?_

_[Trip 11:57] I thought I was expounding on the virtues of a woman untamed by societal norms._

_[Skye 11:58] Okay, Shakespeare. We both know that's something called a "tangent." What's this really about?_

_[Trip 11:59] Oh, just checking in on my girl in LA. Sounds like you're doing okay, though._

_[Skye 12:02] Mhmm. Yup. That totally makes sense._

_[Skye 12:02] No ulterior motives here._

_[Skye 12:04] Wait, did you just call me your LA girl? How many girls do you have?_

_[Trip 12:05] C'mon, Skye. Why would I talk to anyone else when I could talk to you? ;)_

_[Skye 12:06] That rumbling you're feeling, that's coming from the general direction of California? That's me, rolling my eyes._

_[Trip 12:08] I would expect nothing less._

Trip let her stew on that as his soul song's tempo picked up, allowing him to go back to his blueprints with a new enthusiasm. Teasing Skye was a nice contrast to the kind of sarcasm he got from Garret, which of course, was not to say that Garret wasn't light hearted. Skye was just brighter, more genuine, and much easier to get along with. It had taken a while for him to notice it, but after two years, he was starting to see a mean-spirited lining behind all Garret's jokes, not to mention a kind of bravado that Trip didn't really have a taste for. Adding to that the endless repetition of the same war stories, Trip found himself in a strange kind of world-traveling rut.

So when Coulson bribed Garret with an old bottle of scotch and asked Trip to join his team, Trip was happy for the change in pace. This would be more than a two-man strike team; Coulson had been given an old-school 747 and a team to man it. He was surprised to find that he would be the only specialist on board, but not at all disappointed. It would nice to have more than one person to talk to on any given day. And, he thought, it would be an honor to serve under a man as distinguished as Coulson. He thanked Garret for the opportunity with a double handshake and went off in search of a whole lot more.

He was surprised to find out how much of this change turned out to be familiar.

"Wha-whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, watch it! That's the night night gun!"

"Well, it's on my stuff and it doesn't work. And there's no way we're calling it the night night gun."

"The bullets work. Non-lethal, heavy stopping power, break up under the subcutaneous tissue—"

"Oh, and with only a dose of only point on microliters of dendrotoxin. I'm not Hermoine; I can't create instant paralysis with that. You should have run the specs by me—"

"The bullets are hollow! It's a marvel I can—"

"—before building the molds! Or used a—"

"—keep them from breaking apart in the—" 

"higher caliber round or read—"

"—chamber! Have you ever heard of—

"—a book! It's not particularly—"

"—physics? Or what's that other word, um—"

"—difficult!"

"—inertia?

"Ahem?"

The two bickering scientists stopped cold to look at Trip, who stood at the entrance of the Bus with a smile and a duffel bag.

"I'm looking for a FitzSimmons?"

Simmons eyes lit up. "Trip!"

Fitz frowned. "Trip?"

"Antoine Triplett," Simmons beamed, "this is Fitz."

"And this is Simmons," Fitz scowled. "I'm engineering. She's biochem."

Trip greeted them both in return and told them Coulson had asked for his comm receiver to be encoded. Before he knew it, his old receiver was smashed, Simmons had swabbed his cheek, said something about something being posh, and the process was apparently complete.

"So," said Simmons, "are you excited to be coming on our journey into mystery?"

Trip looked from the exasperated Fitz to the sparkling Simmons to the beginning of what would be their lab to the wedding rings the two scientists wore. They fit there; they fit together, and he could already tell they'd be the best science team he could ask for. And he'd never even had a science team before.

"Better than Christmas," he answered, feeling truly grateful. He'd been wrong about Simmons, but he'd been right about Fitz and Simmons, and that filled him with a satisfaction he couldn't express.

His muted trumpet sang merrily as Coulson whisked him away upstairs, where he found out that the last member of the team was none other than Melinda May. That, in addition to that fact that their first mission involved finally confronting the annoying Rising Tide, seemed to bode well for the role he'd accepted.

That was, until they tracked down a Rising Tide podcast to a bus in an alley, and another surprise was there waiting for him.

"Skye?"


	3. Chapter 3

It was surreal escorting a hooded and handcuffed Skye into the Bus, and the knowing glances from Coulson didn't help. Was he really this bad at judging character? They guided her into a room with honeycomb walls, and when Trip sat her down and took the hood off, she glared at him.

"You guys are making a big mistake," she said, defiant.

Trip had been making a lot of mistakes lately.

"Sorry for the lack of finesse," said Coulson, "Agent Trip here has had a little history with your group, the Rising Tide."

His wailing bass saxophone filled his ears as Coulson accused Skye of being with the Rising Tide and Skye denied it. Trip had never pushed for personal information to prevent her from asking for his own, and now he knew he should have. All he could do now was go through every conversation they'd ever had in his head and hope he'd never given her the opportunity to take advantage of him.

"Is it the girl?" Coulson asked when they left her alone in the room. "She getting under your skin?"

"Sir?"

"Oh, come on, Trip. You obviously know her."

Trip frowned. "Apparently not well enough, sir."

Coulson raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You had no idea?"

"I wasn't looking for conspiracies," Trip said, shrugging. "Maybe I should have."

"So she came off as a nice girl? Genuine?"

Trip nodded. "I think she is. Maybe she really believes in the Rising Tide."

"She's an asset," said Coulson, "and we need to know what she knows."

And somehow, five minutes later, Trip found himself in a room face to face with his so-called friend. 

"Don't trust us?" asked Coulson. "Ask Trip whatever you like."  

And then, before he could say anything, Coulson shot him with a placebo he'd told Skye was a truth drug, and Trip was left alone with implicit orders to play the part.

Trip didn't like playing parts.

"So, you're in SHIELD?"

He tried to avoid her eyes as he tried to think of something to say, but he found he couldn't look away.

"Yeah," he said. "Are you Rising Tide?"

She stared back, challenging him. "Have you ever killed people?"

He let his face soften, remembering his order to be transparent. He lowered his head.

"When I couldn't avoid it."

She stood up, walking around the table to meet him.

"And does your grandmother know about these things?"

He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "I don't even know how many people she took out. She didn't like to talk about it."

She cocked her head at him. "What?"

Trip shrugged. "I guess I always assumed that she didn't like it, either."

Skye stared at him, scrunching up her eyebrows to convey a mix of confusion and horror.

"What the heck, Trip! I thought you were an accountant or something."

He shrugged again, enjoying her bewildered glare. "I guess it's true, then."

She leaned back, exasperated. "What's true?"

"What happens when you assume. " he said, a smile sneaking across his face. "And what it makes of you and me." 

"You mean assuming that you're an accountant based in El Paso?"

He shot her an incredulous look. "El Paso? When did I tell you I was based in El Paso?"

"Your phone number has a 915 area code," she said.

"Okay," he allowed, "so where did me being an accountant come from?"

She swallowed. "I don't know," she said, "they travel for work a lot?"

He grinned, knowing he had her. "Alright. You know, if you were in SHIELD, you'd be trained to look for more than that. If you help us, maybe I can teach you."

"You?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'd have to trust you first."

"Well," he said, "luckily for you, I happen to be very trustworthy."

"You? You work for SHIELD. Lying is basically your full-time job."

"Hey," he said, letting it go, "I'm a secret agent. That means I have to keep some things secret. But why would I lie if I didn't absolutely have to?"

"So what," challenged Skye, "you never lie, ever?"

"Dishonesty is complicated," he explained. "I like to keep things simple. And I'm a good person."

She rolled her eyes at him. "If you say so."

"I don't have to," he said. "You'll just have to stick around and see for yourself."

And as it turned out, she did. Before Trip knew it, Coulson hired her as a consultant, assigned Trip as her SO, and Trip was treated to Skye's eye roll on a regular basis.

He tried to take it in stride.

It wasn't that she didn't get along with the team—she and FitzSimmons were thick as thieves in no time. But there was an underlying tone when she spoke to him, the kind that almost threw his trumpet out of tune. He didn't let it get to him. 

He may have been a little disappointed that she didn't trust him as quickly as he'd hoped, but he figured it was a lot to take in. She'd been a loner for a long time, but he suspected that like him, Skye had craved more than going solo. The question was only if she would do what it took to get it.

A few weeks later, when they found Skye back in the arms of her Rising Tide boyfriend, the answer seemed clear. 

"I know how this looks," she said, but Trip only ducked his head.

"How long have you been in contact?"

"It's not like that," she said. "Miles and I . . . we met when we were both a little screwed up."

He looked her over, watching the guilt ooze out of her pores. 

"I can see that."

"We looked after one another."

"Skye," said Trip, "what do you think the team was doing?"

He walked away from her gaping jaw, reminding himself that he was a SHIELD agent with a duty to put the team and the mission ahead of his disappointment. For some reason, Coulson made the call to keep Skye on the team to complete that mission, and it was Coulson's call to make. So he let his hurt fall off him to the slide of a trombone and went back to work. 

He found, however, that the joy he generally felt in FitzSimmons' lab seemed stilted when he walked in the door. Skye's friendship with FitzSimmons seemed to have unintended consequences. And that's why, when he heard Skye's laughter coming from the direction of the lab, he tried to ignore it.

"Hey, that's a sound I haven't heard in a bit," he heard Fitz say.

"Yeah," said Skye, "well you wouldn't be laughing a lot if you were living in Trip's doghouse."

"You made the rounds," said Fitz, "apologized to us all. What more can he ask?"

Trip frowned, resuming his route down the hall as he tried to take that thorn out of his side. Fitz was new to the field and wouldn't have the same aversion to disloyalty that Trip had. It would be easy for him to side with Skye and to think there were sides. May and Coulson shared the more seasoned view of things that Trip had, and that was enough. The newbies would get there in time.  Objectively speaking, this only showed how much Skye needed his training, and how important it was to be a good example for FitzSimmons. So he put his head down, got to work, and coaxed as many smiles out of his teammates as he could. He never expected the team to be perfect. He could only expect that of himself.

"You did good," May said one day. She'd found Trip relaxing after a two-man mission with Fitz to South Ossetia.

"Fitz did the hard part," Trip deflected. "It's not easy to defuse an overkill device under heavy gunfire."

"Is that why you're smiling?"

This is what he liked about May: how she could say so much with a glint in her eye. He returned the gesture.

"I guess it depends on what you've heard."

May blinked. "I heard Fitz telling Simmons that he had your back the whole time."

Trip chuckled, nodding. It had been a little awkward to work with Fitz at first, but shared goals had a way of bringing people together. That was one of the things Trip loved about working with a team.

"Almost seems as exciting as what happened at the Hub, " said May.

Trip's smile faded. "What do you mean?"

He watched May wait to give him her answer, feeling that there was a kind of music in the subtlety of her expressions. He wondered if she could hear it.

"Didn't get to finish my tai chi today because I had to smooth over a problem for Simmons. Seems a Night-Night Gun bullet accidentally lodged itself in Agent Sitwell's forehead."

Trip stared at her, half in shock, half in confusion. It wasn't like May to gossip. As incredible as the story was, he was more concerned with the reason May was telling it.

"Is everything alright?"

She gave him a look and the smallest of nods. "I told you I smoothed it over."

"That's not what I mean."

May turned away from him to open a cupboard. "Turns out Simmons was looking for intel on Fitz and Sitwell got in the way."

"I don't blame Simmons for being worried about her husband," said Trip. 

She shrugged, but when Trip saw the hint of a smile, he started to see where she was taking this.

"What did Skye do?"

"Simmons is a rule follower," said May. "She knew it was a need-to-know mission, and she knew that she didn't need to know."

"So Skye must have goaded her into it," Trip concluded. "Why?"

May filled up a glass with water and took a long sip.

"How should I know?" she said.

And before he knew it, Trip found himself in alone with the soul song in his heart and the questions that were sure to keep him up at night.

**Author's Note:**

> I am hoping I can wrap this up next chapter. Look out for fan art by the lovely EclecticMuses coming up soon!


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